


Soaring

by willowcabins



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Alternate Universe - Battlestar Galactica Fusion, Alternate Universe - Space, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcabins/pseuds/willowcabins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valkubus BSG AU: "Some people take to the skies as if they were born with wings. They soar, landlocked, yearning, starving for the blue sky, which they were born to conquer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soaring

**Author's Note:**

> // taking events from episode 1.04 & 1.05 from BSG //

Some people take to the skies as if they were born with wings. They soar, landlocked, yearning, starving for the blue sky, which they were born to conquer.

Tamsin, one of the farmer Olaf Tyberg’s famous thirteen daughters, was always mentioned when this topic came up in polite conversation before The Attack. At the age of nine she had modified her father’s hovercraft, destroying it and instead using the mechanism on a surf-board type structure which had been able to fly faster and higher than the reliable, ground-locked vehicle she had destroyed. She had been admitted to Picon’s prestigious flight school mere days after.

Tamsin had broken her arm and three ribs when she flew off her “Surfboard” while she shot over the rows of wheat and landed with a heavy thud, winded. As she desperately tried to regain breath, stunned and frightened, the sky had mocked her in its blue vastness, untouched by her childish experiment. Tears formed in Tamsin’s eyes in frustration at her own failure.

When Krissy found her, she copied Mama’s pose, one hand on her hip, and sighed loudly. “What did you _do_?” The younger sister demanded, dropping her pose and staring at Tamsin’s arm in confusion when she realised it was twisted and at the wrong angle.

“I flew,” she whispered, breathing laboriously. Krissy smirked.

“Not very well,” she pointed out. “Flying doesn’t mean _falling_.” Tamsin glared at her.

“Shut up and get Sofia;” sisterly code for ‘find someone older and responsible to help me but don’t tell our parents’. Krissy promptly ignored the plea.

“I’ll tell Papa,” She crooned, scampering off through the fields to find their father. Tamsin tried to stop her, but her attempt to sit up pushed her fracture ribs into her torso uncomfortably, and she quickly went back to lying motionlessly.

She would get into trouble for this.

 

Her father and the doctor arrived in the farmhouse at the same time. While the doctor poked and prodded her chest, her father asked her questions. “What happened, Tamsin?”

“I made a surfboard so I could fly faster,” she said quietly, staring at the ceiling and desperately trying to supress the tears of pain that were leaking out of her eyes as Doctor Nielson pressed down on her chest. Her father’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

“So you decided to take apart the _family_ hovercraft?” He asked, baffled.

“I just wanted to fly, Papa,” Tamsin whispered, closing her eyes and imagining the blue blue sky.

“Fly?” Sofia snorted and crossed her arms; as the oldest sister, her concern had to be expressed through this contempt. Tamsin just closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see her mother’s worry or her father’s disapproval. Her father sighed.

“How bad is it, doctor?” Her father asked, voice filled with soft concern.

“She’s fine,” Doctor Nielson dismissed. “Her broken ribs didn’t penetrate her lungs and there seems to be minimal internal bleeding. I’ll bandage the arm and bind it to her chest with a sling. I’ll leave instructions how to change the bandage, but this,” she held up a small pill bottle, “will stimulate bone healing. I would also suggest that you;” she turned to Tamsin, “keep your flying to a minimum for the next few weeks.”

“If God had wanted us to fly he would have given us _wings_ ,” Anna piped up after all the grownups had left, poking her head out from the upper bunk. Tamsin rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out. _Younger siblings._ Anna pulled a face and retracted back into her bunk before Tamsin could think of a reply.

 

A few days later Tamsin was prancing around the farm, loudly lording her injury over her sisters. “Shall I help you with that, Frida?” She asked, skipping over to where her sister was shoveling hay. Frida glared at her. “ _Oh wait_ I can’t!” Tamsin ran off, giggling.

“Tamsin!” Her father’s voice was not limited by the size of the farm; wherever she was, she could hear him. She scampered towards the farmhouse, clutching her arm in the sling so it didn’t move while she ran.

“Yes, Papa?” She panted, appearing before him.

“Come, I’ve fixed the hovercraft. We’re going into town.” She swallowed.

“Town?” This was no trip to the village market. _Town_ meant the big city, the one her father avoided at all costs because the air was cold and metallic and unfriendly and he didn’t like the cylons everywhere.

“Your mother packed you a bag.” The bag was already in the hovercraft: Tamsin could just see its worn edge poking across the edge. The panic in her throat tightened. Were her parents shipping her off? Had she been too bad?

“Papa?” She whispered, terror entering her eyes. He touched her shoulder absently.

“It’s okay, darling. I had an idea.”

His idea turned out to be turning up at the Picon Planetary Flight School for the Young and Gifted (admission age, 11). Tamsin gulped as they walked through the gates: she wasn’t 11. Her father sat down at the front desk and, filling out an official looking form, wrote down her name and a birthday that was two years before her _actual_ birthday. He then handed the papers to the secretary, smiling serenely. The secretary glanced between the papers and Tamsin.

“How old are you?” she demanded of Tamsin critically.

“Eleven?” Tamsin lied, as rehearsed.

“She looks small to be eleven.” The woman handed the paperwork to a cylon behind her.

“She has twelve sisters,” Michael replied. The woman snorted.

“Fine, she can stay. I mean, her little experiment did get a reasonable amount of coverage. But with that arm she won’t be much use for the next two weeks.”

“You’d be surprised.” A week later Tamsin beat the high score on the Level 2 Flight Simulator. Madame Kain pressed her lips together in a trademark frown of annoyance that a child was doing better than expected.

 

Tamsin was one of the best pilots the force could boast about. “Valkyrie” they called her, and she grew and flourished into her nickname. A Lieutenant in the Colonial Fleet, Tamsin was on Galactica when the rebellion exploded, throwing her life into a scrambled mess.

“We need you to train more pilots to replace those that we lost.” Tamsin hung her head; it was blow to both their military prowess and their morale to lose 13 of their company. She looked up when Commander Adama didn’t continue; he was looking at her, expectantly. Tamsin’s eyes widened.

“Me, sir?” She demanded.

“Yes, you!” Tamsin laughed, incredulous.

“Sir, I am _no good_ with inspiration.”

“You don’t need to inspire these people, you just have to _train_ them.”

“But Sir –“

“That was an order, Tamsin.”

The classroom of recruits was only half full, but as Tamsin stood on the podium and surveyed them, she was disappointed. “I stopped being a flight school instructor because I was told I only inspired doubt and terror into the recruits.” She smirked. “So I suppose, if you survive training with me, you’re ready for anything.” There was a giggle in the second row. Tamsin rolled her eyes and sighed. “Let’s get started, nuggets.”

 

There were thirteen civilians in the room, but after four hours Tamsin knew only three of them were flight-worthy. “You, what’s your callsign?”

“Dyson, Sir.”

“No, dumbass. That’s your _name_. I want your callsign.” He glanced at his friend, uncertainly.

“I don’t-”

“Wolfman. His callsign is Wolfman,” the girl in black on the other side of him piped up. The room chuckled but Tamsin just nodded.

“Wolfman, Alpha and?” She tilted her head at the girl who named her friend. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Beta,” she decided. Tamsin smirked.

“Beta,” she repeated. “That’s a good name. Anyway, I want all of you out on the flight deck in twenty minutes. We don’t have any simulators, so I want you in those vipers so I can teach you what I know.”

The girl who every called Alpha approached Tamsin. “How do you know my name?” she demanded. Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

“You’re _Bo Dennis_ ,” Tamsin said by way of explanation, smirking. “Army brat who was brought on Gallactica because of who your father is. Of _course_ I know your name.”

“I’m more than just my father’s daughter, you know,” she snapped. Tamsin grinned, unfazed by her brazen nature.

“I’m excited to see proof of that, fledgling.”

 

They _were_ promising, though Tamsin noted that between the lecture hall and the flight deck she had lost five students. Well, she had tried to warn Adama about her talent to inspire doubt in people…

On Day 4, Tamsin decided it was time. “Tomorrow it’s time for practice exercises,” she called out.

“Practice exercises?” Wolfman shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. Tamsin scoffed at him.

“What, are you frightened of a routine flying mission?” She demanded. He shifted again, casting a furtive glance outside, to space.

“I am not _afraid_ ,” he clarified. “I just- well we will be out in space, right?”

“Yes? Where else would we be?” Tamsin replied impatiently.

“I just mean – you could—Cylones.” His argument revolved around that one word. Tamsin wanted to laugh; did this boy, this young man from Aerilon not understand that _that_ was their whole problem. Before she could make some snarky response explaining that _yes_ there _was_ a dangerous enemy with whom they were at war with roaming space, Alpha put her hand on his shoulder.

“We’re at war, Dyson,” she said calmly. “We have to face the danger _some day_.”

“Better to meet it on your own terms!” Beta chimed in cheerfully. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Sir!” She saluted and they left.

 

“Boys and girls, tomorrow this bitch is taking to the air! Who’s got some booze so that if I die, I at least don’t die sober?” A clever entrance line, Tamsin gave her that. Beta (whose real name was Kenzi, a name that sounded harsher than her callsign) entered the common area with the arrogance and assurance of a much better pilot. But Tamsin decided to ignore her and her gang in favour of beating Evony and Vex out of their cards. She glanced at the group of nuggets though, her eyes lingering on Alpha, who caught her lingering stare.

“Are those the nuggets?” Evony asked, following Tamsin’s gaze. Vex scoffed, looking back down at his cards.

“They look like they’ll blow away at the sign of the slightest breeze.” He commented.

“They have more nerve than their looks give them credit for,” Tamsin replied icily, putting down another card.

“That wouldn’t take much,” Evony scoffed. “They look like children.”

“Children with ambrosia,” Bo piped up. Tamsin looked up, surprised. Bo was grinning, bottle in her hand, colour high in her cheeks. “You, by the way, have a rubbish hand,” she added leisurely. Tamsin raised her eyebrows.

“You play Triad?” She asked, incredulous. She learnt Triad in pilot school and had a hard time believing that any civilian would have the time and the patience to learn the involved rules of the game.

“Army brat,” Bo explained, pulling up a chair and giving the bottle to Tamsin. “Now, redeal and let’s play a game of _strip_ Triad to make this whole thing a _little_ more interesting.”

There was something about her; perhaps it was the colour in her cheeks, or her bright eyes, or just the seductive magnetism of her electric confidence. Whatever it was, Tamsin felt drawn, violently connected to this little arrogant nugget. She sighed dramatically.

“Since I don’t have any other plans I _suppose_ you can count me in.” Bo grinned devilishly.

 

Bo’s latest hand forced Tamsin to peel off her tank top to reveal a utilitarian sports bra. On a pile next to her are almost all her clothes, save for underwear and cargo pants. It was frustrating, but for some reason Bo was incredibly gifted at Triad and quickly forced the whole table to strip. A lot. Kenzi was sitting behind Bo, entwined by one of the bigger and more powerful pilots, watching and jeering on the rookie.

“This is _so_ embarrassing for you guys,” the pilot hulking around Kenzi pointed out. “Some rookie is just _destroying_ you.”

“Thank you _so much_ for your opinion, _Carl_ ,” Evony snarled.

“You guys _can_ give up, you know,” Bo commented happily, rearranging her cards primly. Tamsin was drunk enough to simultaneously _hate_ her confidence, and also be drawn in by it. She handed the bottle of ambrosia back to Bo. It was nearly empty, but Bo took a slug anyway.

“I’m not dead _yet_ ,” Tamsin retorted accepting a new round of cards.

“Yet being the operative word here,” Bo agreed.

**XX**

They were walking the same way when they left the common area. Bo bumped into Tamsin, giggling. “I can’t _believe_ you beat me in the end,” she admitted, laughing almost hysterically. Tamsin giggled, grabbing Bo by her hand and leading her through the corridors as nimbly as she could.

“I told you! I wasn’t dead!” Tamsin couldn’t stop laughing either. Tamsin stopped in front of Bo’s dorm, but Bo didn’t realise and continued for another step before Tamsin yanked her back. Their hands were still clasped. Drunk and uncoordinated, Bo toppled into Tamsin and pushed her flat against the metallic wall.

They were in close proximity. Tamsin could see the single flecks in Bo’s brown eyes, and the edge of sweat hiding underneath her temple, and the slight nuanced lines on Bo’s lip. They shared breaths for a second; a strained second in which Tamsin wished she was not a flight instructor, and this war had never happened and she was just a little braver.

She wasn’t, so she slipped out from under Bo’s body.

“Good night,” she muttered, drunken revelry dissipated and replaced with palpable disappointment and awkwardness. She disappeared down the gangway before Bo could even voice a reply.

 

“Are you comfortable?” Wolfman’s leg was jittery, Beta was checking the equipment in her viper for the third time and Alpha was sitting there, serenely watching Tamsin.

“Yes,” they replied, with varying degrees of honesty.

“Now, just relax, remember everything I taught you, and concentrate. I’ll be out after you. Try and arrange yourself in the triangular attack mode most CAP flights use.”

“Yes, sir.”

They did it. They did exactly what they were meant to do, and they did it well, but still it was a disaster. A cylon raider appeared out of nowhere and shot at the ships; Tamsin instructed her nuggets back to safety and tried to catch the fucker herself, but it was elusive and fast and much more agile than her jaeger.

Alpha was stupid and reckless and brave and _stayed_. The raider shot at her viper, and unable to manouver fast enough, Tamsin was forced to swoop and push Alpha’s viper to the side, taking a shot to her wing which begun a swinging trajectory. Tamsin spun through space at a dizzying speed, unable to regain control of her failing Viper. Bo shot the raider as it swung too close to the moon’s atmosphere, and it dipped and sunk into the atmosphere. Tamsin’s viper, caught in the moon’s orbit, followed suit. Bo watched, horrified, all too aware that it was because of her that Tamsin was lost.

Tamsin had disappeared. She disappeared, swallowed up by the planetary mists of the barren moon below them. And it was Bo’s fault. Her viper had barely docked and she had already vaulted out of her cockpit, ignoring Dyson and Kenzi’s excitement that she had survived, and run to the command center.

 

“Get her _back_ ,” Bo was standing in the middle of the command center, two officers loosely holding her arms, ready to restrain her should they need to. Commander Adama and the President were just staring at her.

“You’re Dennis’ daughter, right?” Colonel Tigh asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yes! I am! And I _command_ you to get Tamsin back.”

“Tamsin?” Colonel Tigh raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean the lieutenant! Or Valkyrie, as the masses have taking to calling her.”

“Yes. We _need_ her.”

“Do we need her, Commander?” The President raised an eyebrow. The commander shifted.

“Tamsin is an incredibly important soldier for this ship, so in some ways, yes, Madame President. We do need her.” The President did not look impressed.

“Is she worth endangering the other fifty _thousand_ people currently on these vessels?” She asked, one hand on her hip, her expression incredulous.

“Yes.” All three eyes came back to Bo, but she stood tall, true to her answer.

“No,” Colonel Tight disagreed. “Valkyrie is smart and fast and important, but she is not worth the lives of all our civilians.”

“How da-”

“Watch it, girl,” Commander Adama snapped, turning to glare at Bo. “Your father may have been an important man, but you are in the _military_ now. Do not second guess your superior officer.” Though mollified, Bo didn’t drop it.

“Let me be in charge of her recovery,” she pleaded.

“No, you’re a _nugget_. Now, get out. I’m putting Apollo in charge of this.”

Three minutes later, Bo was banging on the door of Apollo’s bunk and demanding that he start the search immediately and let her fly with them.

 

Bo was starting to resort to prayer. Kenzi was more pragmatic. “Look Bo, if we don’t find her in three hours…” Kenzi’s trepidation crackled across the radio, her silence pregnant.

“We’ll _find_ her,” Bo snarled back.

“Bo…”

“No, Kenzi. This was _my_ fault.”

“Space is dangerous. Tamsin knew that better than anyone else. Just, I don’t know, get used to that idea.”

“Nothing to get used to. I’m _going_ to find her.”

 

Apollo was the one who found her, if ‘found’ was the operative word to describe the appearance of the Cylon in which Tamsin had hid herself. She flew it well, as if she understood its nuances and touches, and when the announcement crackled over the radio, calling all viper units home, Bo yelled in victory. She twisted her machine around and accelerated, beating all over vipers home and vaulting out of her cockpit. “Where is she?” She demanded.

“Sick ward,” Apollo replied, catching Bo’s shoulder as she nearly stumbled.

“Sick ward?” Bo’s face drained of colour.

“No I mean she’s fine, she’s just hurt her knee quiet badly. I’m sure you can go see her.” Bo ran off before Apollo even managed to finish the sentence.

The sick ward was nearly empty; Tamsin was in one of the two occupied beds. She grinned as Bo skidded in, though her smile was a bit cloudly. “Watch it: she on some pretty strong medication,” the nurse warned Bo, standing between her and Tamsin. Bo nodded absently.

“Okay, yes, whatever.” The nurse just shook his head and let Bo step forward.

“I didn’t think you’d come to see me,” Tamsin slurred, her eyes glazing over as she tried to concentrate on Bo’s face.

“You’re an idiot,” Bo replied, dragging over one of the hospital chairs and sitting on its edge, staring at Tamsin.

“That may be, but at least I’m a _useful_ idiot.” Even in her drugged state, she retained her sarcasm.

“It’s true. And a beautiful idiot, at that.” Bo moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Tamsin smiled at her; the smile made Bo feel a warm pull in her stomach. She pushed a strand of hair out of Tamsin’s face, and Tamsin leaned into the touch. Bo carefully cupped her cheek and smiled. “I was worried about you,” she murmured, tenderly. Tamsin smiled.

“No need to worry. I was born with wings.” She blinked heavily.

“I believe that,” Bo chuckled. Tamsin’s eyes drooped but she forced them open again. “You should sleep,” Bo whispered.

“Don’t wanna,” Tamsin muttered, Bo sat down on the edge of Tamsin’s bed and held her hand, cradling it gingerly in her own.

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I’m not ever leaving your side again.” Tamsin smiled, reassured, and quickly surrendered to sleep.

 

Tamsin was trapped in bed for too long; she grew impatient, fixing small electronic devices and constantly sketching, drawing new designs of aircrafts she could make if she only had the material and the time. Bo visited her almost daily, sometimes accompanied by Kenzi, sometimes alone, to tell her about the education that Apollo was giving them.

“I mean, he’s cool and all, but I liked you better,” Bo grumbled.

“Well _I_ think he’s dishy,” Kenzi disagreed, sitting at the foot of Tamsin’s bed, legs crossed, trying to figure out how Tamsin was reassembling one of the remotes for the electric doors.

“You and half the fleet,” Tamsin replied, reaching out and grabbing the half done remote back. Kenzi grinned.

“I’m in good company, then,” Kenzi decided. Tamsin rolled her eyes.

“How goes physical therapy?” Bo asked, tilting her head. Tamsin frowned.

“Painful,” she admitted. Bo leaned forward and took her hand and squeezed it. Tamsin supressed a smile. She had no idea what she and Bo were doing, but it made her feel good and warm and happy, so really it was good.

“But when will you be off crutches?” Bo asked, leaning back again, though she didn’t let go of Tamsin’s hand.

“I don’t know,” Tamsin admitted. “Depends how much I do. The doctor estimated anywhere between two weeks and a month.”

“A month?!” Kenzi looked horrified. “The fleet can’t survive a month without you!”

“I’m sure it’s fine…” Tamsin began but Kenzi shook her head vehemently.

“It’s not! Go on! Get better! I need to know people like you are out there to protect me from cylons!” Tamsin laughed.

“Kenzi, soon you’re going to become one of us: _you_ can start protecting _me_.” Bo chuckled as Kenzi got up from the bed, continuing to shake her head.

“I don’t know, Lieutenant. I feel safer when I know it’s you. So get better!” She phrased it as an order, tugging at Bo’s sleeve.

“I’m trying,” Tamsin complained. Kenzi narrowed her eyes.

“Try _harder_ ,” she warned before dragging Bo away so they wouldn’t miss dinner.

 

 **The** common room was smoky and full of people; Tamsin slipped in unseen. She had sneaked out of the sick ward, still limping slightly. She cursed her leg and forced herself to compartmentalize the pain. She was determined not to miss the fun of the light hearted boxing match that the rookies had organised in celebration of the graduation of Tamsin’s nuggets.

Eight newly graduated nuggets versus the thirteen rookies who had been soldiers longer. The matches were short and good natured because of the elaborate point system that one of the technicians had come up with, where it was a fight with points rather than a fight until someone was on the ground. Tamsin leaned against a pillar and watched, smirk pulling at her lips, as Bo beat each rookie, slowly ascending the pyramid until she was standing opposite Carl, light sheen of sweat making her grin at him provocatively.

“Hey Carl,” she drawled, and Tamsin could _feel_ the easy confidence radiate from her. Carl smiled back.

“That was some solid fighting,” Carl complimented her. Bo’s grin widened.

“You haven’t seen _anything_ yet, my friend.”

She beat him in record time. Kenzi was the first to jump up, cheering, as Carl picked himself up from the ground. “Sorry Carl,” Kenzi shouted, “but Bo _beat your ass!_ ” The room cheered, and Bo grinned, triumphant and glowing, arm held high by Kenzi. “I present to you, your _champion_ , Alpha.”

In the cheering that erupted, Tamsin found herself behind Bo as she stepped off the podium and was mobbed by admirers. Tamsin tapped Bo’s shoulder lightly. Bo turned around and grinned, triumphantly at Tamsin. “I won!” She shouted.

“I saw!” Tamsin shouted back over the roar of the people, chuckling.

“What? I can’t hear you!” Bo glanced at the people around her and then grinned at Tamsin. “Let’s go outside!” Bo laced her fingers through Tamsin’s and pulled her through the crowd, threading through the masses of people congratulating her, never letting go of Tamsin’s hand, and finally tripping outside. Tamsin wanted to congratulate Bo again. But before she could, Bo kissed her.

It was quick and completely caught Tamsin off guard, and she only sort of understood what was happening before Bo was starting to pull away; she quickly laced her arms around Bo’s neck and pulled her back, relishing the heat and softness of Bo’s lips on her own. Bo hummed into her mouth, tripping forward and pushing Tamsin against the cold metallic wall in her eagerness. Tamsin shifted underneath Bo, pushing up and deepening the kiss as she nudged Bo’s lips apart.

Glass shattered in the common room; Tamsin jerked away and looked around in confusion, but then a loud cheering erupted from the crowd and she realised it was all just drunken jests. Bo’s eyes hadn’t left hers.

“I’ve been waiting for this a long time,” Bo murmured, shifting a hand from the wall behind Tamsin to Tamsin’s cheek. Tamsin licked her lips, her eyes focusing on Bo’s lips, and grinned.

“Happy to oblige, Alpha,” she murmured, recapturing Bo’s lips languidly. Bo leaned into Tamsin, her right hand securing itself on her hip while her other ran through Tamsin’s hair, carefully tilting her head further back to allow more access. Bo gently pushed Tamsin’s legs apart with her knee as she lightly sucked at Tamsin’s bottom lip; Tamsin whimpered in response. Tamsin’s hips canted forward in approval, seeking pressure to alleviate the heat that was settling in her core, but Bo held back Tamsin’s hips teasingly.

“Seriously?” Tamsin hissed. Bo laughed, leaning her forehead against Tamsin’s, her eyes sparking almost blue in the darkness of the corridor. Bo grinned teasingly.

“Seriously,” she agreed. Tamsin stroked the nape of Bo’s neck affectionately, drawing her closer for another, chaste kiss, that lingered between them, translating _all_ her feelings into action as well as possible.

“Wanna come to my bunk?” Bo whispered, glancing towards the common room fervently. “I mean, I’m sure almost everyone is in there.” Tamsin chuckled.

“Lead the way.”

 

Their lips found each other again as they entered the dorm; Bo’s hands slipped under Tamsin’s tank top and traced her tensed stomach musclese as she pushed it up. She broke the kiss to push it over Tamsin’s head. Tamsin laughed breathlessly when Bo began walking them backwards toward the bottom bunk that Bo had made claim to.

Somewhere, through the cloud of desire and want, Tamsin acknowledged that Bo was right; the cabin was nearly empty except for one unconscious soldier on the other end who was curled up, facing the wall.

The hard metal edge of the bed jammed into the junction between Tamsin’s thigh and calf, bringing her back to the more urgent situation at hand. She sat down awkwardly, pulling off her own trousers and getting to work on Bo’s.  Bo’s cargo pants fell off and Tamsin yanked her forward by the thighs so Bo was straddling Tamsin’s lap, ducking to avoid hitting her head on the top bunk. Bo grinned and cupped Tamsin’s cheek, tilting her head up so that she could kiss her again.

Bo’s hair fell forward, tickling Tamsin’s shoulder. She removed her hand from Bo’s hip to push back her hair, trailing her fingers against her scalp and then anchoring her hand in Bo’s hair to pull her closer, grinning against her as she felt the slick perspiration that had gathered at the base of Bo’s neck.

Bo moaned quietly into Tamsin’s mouth. The sound was better than an electric shock to Tamsin’s system; she arched into Bo’s solid body and gripped Bo’s thighs. Bo hummed appreciatively and began grinding against Tamsin’s crotch. Driven to distraction by Bo’s warm touch and the smell of sweat and desire, Tamsin awkwardly pushed Bo sideways on the small single bed. Bo fell onto the bed with a quiet “oh!” and caught herself on her forearms and rolled onto her back. She propped herself with her elbows so she could watch Tamsin as Tamsin crawled up Bo’s body, leaning over the edge of the bunk to very quickly let the drape down, plunging them into the only dusk that Space allowed them.

“Now you have me all to yourself, Lieutenant,” Bo murmured. Tamsin grinned.

“Right where I want you, nugget,” she replied, cupping Bo’s face tenderly. Bo smiled up at her; it was an adoring smile, with an edge of desire, that it made Tamsin just slightly breathless. She carefully leaned down to kiss Bo, starting with a chaste, feather light touch of a kiss before deepening it, settling comfortably on Bo’s body as she languidly licked Bo’s mouth. Bo hummed in approval again, pushing her thigh up between Tamsin’s leg. Tamsin growled, tugging at Bo’s tank top and slipping her hand underneath it. She pushed herself down Bo’s body slightly, offering just enough pressure and fiction at the right place to make Bo slam her head against the pillow and arch against Tamsin’s body. Tamsin grinned and pushed up Bo’s tank top to reveal her flat stomach; she began leaving feather light kisses.

“I love your eyes,” she murmured, against the skin of Bo’s stomach. The pace of Bo’s breaths increased. “They’re so beautiful. Part brown, part blue.” Bo laughed through her panting, her stomach fluttering up and down with the speed of her breaths.

“What are you trying to do, Lieutenant? You’re already in my bed,” she joked, though Tamsin noticed that her voice was slightly deeper, a little more husky, than normally. Tamsin grinned.

“Good point,” she murmured, trailing her hand up Bo’s torso and placing her hand under Bo’s breast. The bra, damp with perspiration, pressed against Tamsin’s hand. “This, however, needs to come off.” Bo yanked the top off in record speed. Tamsin crawled further up Bo’s body again, one hand still anchored on Bo’s ribs, right under her bra-clad breast. Bo shivered in anticipation and pushed upwards, eagerly straining against the pressure of Tamsin’s body to diminish their physical distance. Tamsin recaptured Bo’s lips, grinning at her as she felt the pleading push again. Her attention shifted, from Bo’s mouth, to a pilgrimage down her neck, biting and relishing the heat as Bo pressed her core into Tamsin’s thigh again. She liked the salty sweat that had accumulated in the valley between Bo’s breast during the tournament, eliciting a whine and another clumsy rock of Bo’s hips. Bo’s breathing speed up and Tamsin trailed the hand on Bo’s hip down, to rest on the outside of her thigh and to hold push her hip into the thin mattress.

“Tamsin,” Bo gasped, the plea losing severity in its breathless desperation. Tamsin stopped her wet litany and looked up, eyebrows raised.

“You want me to stop?” She asked, cocky. Bo exhaled sharply, her hips pushing upwards and straining for friction again.

“I need –“ Bo began, losing her train of thought as Tamsin restarted her kisses, trailing closer to her breast. Tamsin stopped at the interruption again, looking up with a grin.

“You need what?” She asked, hot breath creating goosebumps on damp skin.

“You to _stop doing that_ ,” Bo gasped. Tamsin chuckled and kissed Bo’s bra tenderly.

“This?” She asked, “or that?” She bit down on the bra, rubbing the fabric against an erect and painfully sensitive nipple; Bo grabbed the sheets and whined, pushing her hips up in frustration.

“That!” She hissed on a strained exhale. Tamsin chuckled and mapped out the skin covering Bo’s tense stomach muscles affectionately.

“I can’t make any promises,” she murmured against Bo’s stomach, before starting to address the kisses lower.

“I hate you,” Bo moaned.

When Tamsin was leaving little bite marks on the side of Bo’s thigh, or perhaps when she looked up from the apex of Bo’s thighs, Bo smeared all over her lips, or perhaps later when Bo was making Tamsin whisper _her_ name in a perfect cry of agony, Bo decided she didn’t hate Tamsin. That feeling that welled up in her chest, large and threatening, went by another name all together.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by journaliar's bsg au [Cut Open My Sternum(And Pull My Little Ribs Around You)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/679267)


End file.
